By Martin Owton
Out of the corner of his eye Aron scrutinized the man who had been watching him. He was so powerfully built that it seemed his shaven head sprouted directly from his shoulders. He was plainly dressed, carrying no weapons openly, yet there was a sense of menace about him as he watched as Aron teach his afternoon class of basic bladesmanship in stable yard of The Spotted Cat.
I haven’t been in Laranda long enough to upset anyone, so I wonder what he wants? Of course he could be Caldon’s man, or even Sarazan’s.
Aron had arrived in Laranda just under a moon ago, chasing tales of Saxish clansmen. The tales had proved false but he’d stayed, attracted by Laranda’s wealth and the easy going reputation of its ruler, Duke Falis. His face and name were too well known in the Holy City just now for him to return, and he had nowhere else to go.
He’d taken lodgings at The Spotted Cat; cheap enough that he could afford to pay for several weeks, but not so cheap as to make him look disreputable, and passed word around the city of his availability as a personal escort and tutor of bladesmanship. Business had been slow. His class today had comprised only three pupils, but there was plenty of time for things to improve as word spread of his abilities. He had been looking forward to a long carefree summer, maybe even a little romance to help him forget the ladies of Nandor; then the man had arrived.
A little knot of tension began to tighten in Aron’s stomach as he took his pupils through the basic drills with their wooden practice swords, and the stranger’s silent vigil continued. Aron dismissed his pupils and turned to face the watcher. The watcher stood up and nodded in Aron’s direction. If he were here to harm me he’d have brought more men. Nevertheless Aron’s right hand sought the hilt of the throwing knife he wore in a sheath in his left sleeve as he approached.
“You can teach, I’ll give you that,” said the big man, looking Aron in the eye. “But can you fight?”
“I believe I can back it up,” said Aron, still on edge. “Perhaps you should ask Mikael of Sarazan.”
“So that was you.” The big man smiled. “I saw that fight. You’re exactly the man my boss is looking for if you’re available.” He held out a meaty calloused hand. “The name’s Tyrone. I work for Theodis of Laranda. He’s a successful merchant in the city.”
Aron took his hand. “What’s the job?” said Aron, the tension draining out of him.
“His daughter was abducted yesterday. If you come along with me he’ll tell you the details.”
The warehouse of Theodis was filled with goods and much activity despite the lateness of the day. Tyrone brought Aron through to the office upstairs where they went straight in.
Theodis was a short plump man with greying hair and beard. The rings on his fingers spoke of wealth, the deep shadows under his reddened eyes spoke of worry.
“This is Aron of Darien, boss,” said Tyrone. “He is the swordsman I told you about.”
Theodis stood up and offered his hand. “Theodis, merchant of Laranda.”
“Aron of Darien, Bladesman of the Academy,” said Aron. “Tyrone tells me your daughter has been taken. How can I help you?”
“I’m gathering a team to get her back. She was taken yesterday morning in the market. Two men picked her up, put her into a large basket and made off. The maid she was with tried to chase them but she was tripped from behind. When she recovered her feet they were gone.” Theodis told this with his fists clenched all the while. “There’s only five of them. I’ll pay whatever is necessary to get her back. She’s only sixteen.”
He reached into his desk, withdrew a small bag and dropped it on the table with a heavy clink.
“How do you know there’s only five?” asked Aron.
“A wizard found them for me,” Theodis said grimly.
“Has there been a demand for money?” said Aron.
“Not as yet. It will not be long in coming I’m sure.”
“Have you approached the Constable?”
“Useless. He told me that Ghislaine had probably eloped. The man’s an idiot and sober for less than half the day.” The bitterness in Theodis’s voice almost smothered the words. “Fortunately I have some friends in this town. They told me of you. I have a few good men, but none of your qualities. Were you truly at the Academy?”
“I was, indeed I am still. I’m merely on extended leave.”
“Then I hope you will join us.”
“How many other men do you have?” asked Aron cautiously.
“Well, there’s Tyrone there. He’s my caravan master. There’s Brin, he’s an archer. Nicoll and his brother Colam, they are my kinsmen. With you in the party, I am sure we have enough to deal with five bandits.” Aron’s heart sank as Theodis named his relatives. He hoped they were tough fellows, able to handle themselves in a fight, but he had a strong suspicion they would turn out to be callow youths with big ideas about adventures. Aron was minded to decline the proposal, but two things stopped him: firstly the fact that Theodis had already sought out a wizard, precisely as Aron would have done, and secondly Tyrone’s air of muscular competency.
Aron wondered whether he might have misjudged Theodis. He was clearly a successful merchant and someone like Tyrone would not work for a fool. Perhaps the good men Theodis had named would be exactly that. There was little harm in his finding out more. If Theodis was right, and the rescue was straightforward, then the money and improved reputation would be most welcome.
“I think I would like to talk to Tyrone and your kinsmen before I commit myself,” said Aron. “I’d like to meet this wizard too. Is that acceptable to you?”
“Of course. I would have had grave doubts about you had you not wanted to know more,” said Theodis evenly. “I’ll take you to him myself.”
Aron felt uneasy; he had passed some test without being aware of it and he had misjudged Theodis again.
“Is there anything else you can remember of the place?” asked Aron. “The smallest detail could be crucial.” He and Theodis stood in a dimly lit room behind a pork butcher’s shop in a poor area of the town. Heavy curtains covered the windows and the scent of cheap incense filled the air. Master Alberic, the wizard, was a short man with a luxuriant beard. He wore a long purple robe which Aron reckoned would have appeared moth-eaten in stronger light.
“Who are you to question me in this manner?” said Master Alberic, glaring at Aron from beneath bushy eyebrows. “Do you doubt the truth of my words?”
“Master Alberic. The young man means no offence,” said Theodis soothingly. “He seeks only the last scrap of information.”
“I’m the one who’ll be going into this cave to fetch Ghislaine out. Any surprises, and I’m the first man in line to receive them,” said Aron, answering the wizard’s glare with a hard look of his own.
“Come now gentlemen. Let us not fall out over this. Surely we are all on the same side. Master Alberic, I would consider it a personal favour if you could visit my daughter once more. I am desperate to know that these bandits haven’t harmed her, and of course if you should see anything else of use to Aron.” Theodis left the sentence hanging as he dug in his belt pouch. Gold glinted between his fingers.
“Very well,” said the wizard with an oily smile. “The fee is the same as last time. Do you have the girl’s comb?”
Theodis passed over a tortoiseshell comb and Master Alberic drew from it a few strands of red hair. “Please sit down while I prepare. Do not speak to me until I speak. I need complete silence in which to concentrate.”
Aron and Theodis sat on a couch which puffed out a cloud of dust as it took their weight. Master Alberic settled himself cross-legged on a rug with a woven pentagram in the middle. He sat in the precise centre of the pentagram, placing the palms of his hands on two of the points. Aron sneezed as the dust filled his nose.
“Hush,” said Master Alberic fiercely. “I must have complete silence.”
Then he began to rock gently back and forth humming a monotonous low chant. Aron watched the performance in silence. He had seen this magic worked before, but with far less theatre; it did not increase his confidence in Master Alberic.
At length, Master Alberic ceased his chant and noisily took a deep breath. “I am with Ghislaine,” he said.
“How is she?” asked Theodis, his voice hoarse with anxiety.
“They are holding her in a cave. She is chained by her ankle, but otherwise unharmed. The men have not touched her,” replied Alberic in a dreamy sing-song voice.
“Thank the Gods,” sighed Theodis, his fists clenched tight. He asked no further question so Aron felt it was his turn.
“How many men guard her?” asked Aron.
“Four. There was another, but he left before they reached the cave,” replied Alberic, still in the strange voice.
“What weapons do they have?”
“Knives and swords. She hasn’t seen anything else.”
“Tell me what you see when you look out from the cave.”
“There’s a flat area before the cave, beyond that there’s a slope down to the stream. There’s a little hill on the other side of the stream with trees on it. I can’t see very far away to the right because of the bend in the valley. To the left the stream broadens and there’s a rock face at its edge. I’m losing the contact.” The last phrase was spoken in Alberic’s normal voice.
“Do you have enough? We already know where this cave is,” Theodis said, his first words for some while.
“I think so,” said Aron after a moment’s consideration. “If it is not all some showman’s trick.”
Master Alberic glared at Aron but said nothing. Theodis hurriedly opened the door to usher Aron away from the wizard before another argument began.
Nicoll and Colam, Theodis’ kinsmen, turned out to be tall dark-haired men in their late twenties with an air of brawny solidity that reassured Aron greatly. No callow youths these two, nor Brin the archer. He was a muscular shaggy-haired hillman who would look stocky until you realised how tall he was. Tyrone nearly broke Aron’s hand with his handshake and called for ale for all of them when Aron told him that he would join the rescue party. Colam wanted to know if Aron could join straightaway as they intended to leave in the morning. If the wizard’s vision was accurate, then with these fellows, Aron thought, the rescue would be money easily earned. One thing only troubled him; Theodis had still not received a ransom demand.
Theodis had maps of the region and, with Master Alberic’s information, had located the cave in a small area a day and a half’s ride from Laranda. The five rescuers rode out in the mid-morning, with enough supplies for eight days in the wild and a spare pony for Ghislaine to ride back. They made good time through the morning and, as the day aged, they turned off onto a smaller lane that wound towards a ragged line of purple hills. As dusk descended, they arrived at a country inn and took lodgings for the night.
“Mind what you say in here,” cautioned Tyrone as they approached the inn. “We are close enough to the area where the kidnappers should be that someone might carry them warning if we arouse suspicion.”
It was easy to avoid loose talk in the tavern as there was almost no-one else there. The tavern keeper was interested in only the quality of their silver and, once satisfied, he showed them to their room in silence. The rescue party were the only diners at supper. Later in the evening three or four farmhands, as Aron guessed them to be, came into the taproom taking to a corner to play some obscure game with cards and dice. After one mug of the sour ale Aron could understand why the tavern was not more popular. He returned to their room leaving Nicoll, Colam and Brin, who were clearly more used to the local brew.
Tyrone was sitting on his bed sharpening a dagger which he put aside when Aron came.
“I’m glad you’ve come back. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about tomorrow,” Tyrone said. “That is assuming we catch up with them tomorrow.”
“As you wish. What’s on your mind?”
“It’s this. I have known Colam and Nicoll since they were children, Brin almost as long. You, I met yesterday. I know I can trust the others in the tightest corner, but can I trust you?” Tyrone looked Aron squarely in the eye as he said this. “I’ve seen you fight in the arena, and you’re a fine bladesman, but can you, will you, kill when the moment comes?”
Aron relaxed. If that was what most bothered Tyrone, then he need not be concerned. “I’ve probably killed more men face-to-face than you have, though I do not needlessly seek it. You need not worry about that.”
There was a moment of silence as Tyrone studied Aron.
“What do you intend to do with any of the kidnappers we take?” asked Aron, more to break the silence that had descended than because he wished to know.
“No prisoners. I’m not the Constable of Laranda to be fetching them back. They’d only hang anywise, so we’ll save ourselves the trouble. Have you any problem with that?” Tyrone looked hard at Aron again.
“They’re no family of mine,” said Aron. He’d have been surprised if the answer had been different. “It’s a hard world. They’ve made their choice.”
This seemed to satisfy Tyrone. “I’m sorry to doubt you, lad, but I’ve known Ghislaine all her life. She’s like my own daughter. I can’t risk anything that could put her at any more risk.” He picked up his whetstone and returned to work on the dagger. “So you reckon you killed more men than me eh? You must have been a busy fellow.”
The rescue party left the dreary tavern shortly after dawn, continuing towards the hills on a narrow and rutted track. The countryside changed as they rode into the hills; in the early morning they had passed through pasture land with cattle grazing. By midday rocks were showing through the thin soil and the cattle had given way to sheep. In the middle of the afternoon they came upon the first of the landmarks that Master Alberic had seen in his vision. Tyrone pulled out the notes that Theodis had made. After a few moment’s reading he directed them away from the track across through the rough scrub of the hillside. Every so often Tyrone would nod or grunt in approval and consult the notes. From this Aron understood that Master Alberic knew the countryside well or, just possibly, had the true sight.
As the shadows lengthened the five rode in single file following a rough stony path down a valley that narrowed between the outstretched arms of a limestone height. Hoof prints in the dust showed that others had passed this way since the last rain. Aron felt the muscles in his chest and shoulders tighten in anticipation. A stream chattered over the pale stones beside them as they came to where two shoulders of the ridge closed in, creating a gateway across the valley. Here they dismounted, tethering the ponies in a thicket of young trees whose foliage gave good cover. Tyrone drew out Master Alberic’s notes once more and gestured to the others to draw near.
“If I have it right, then they lie just beyond.” Tyrone pointed to the hill at their backs. “If we climb this hill then we should be able to look directly into the cave. There should be woods on the far side of the hill so let’s use the cover. Master Alberic said they keep no lookout, but that is no reason to be less careful.”
Tyrone had it right. From the crest of the hill they crouched in the undergrowth and were able to look across the narrow valley into the cave unobserved. But instead of three or four ruffians guarding Ghislaine, the slope below the cave was crowded with armed men all wearing dark full-length robes. Aron’s heart sank. The area immediately before the mouth of the cave had a great pile of wood on one side, on the other side a stake taller than a man was driven into a crack and between the two a white circle had been inscribed on the flat rock. As they watched two men stepped forward from the cave and looked down the valley to where the sun was sinking towards the horizon.
“Fuck the bastard!” swore Tyrone . “Eberlan!”
“Who’s Eberlan?” said Aron.
“The shorter man there, “ said Tyrone. “He’s Duke Falis’ cousin. He tried to overthrow Falis fifteen years back. The revolt was broken, but Eberlan got away. I think the big bearded man in white with the golden belt is Arathaxis, the death cult high priest. He matches the description I’ve heard. He’s under a death sentence from the High King.”
“There must be two hundred of them,” said Colam.
Aron spat a whispered curse in reply. “Well done, Master Alberic.”
They retreated to the bottom of the hill where they had left the ponies.
“Does anyone have any ideas?” said Tyrone.
“The white markings on the rock before the cave look like a conjuring circle,” said Aron. “I fear they have seized Ghislaine as an offering.”
“They’re going to sacrifice her?” gasped Colam, clenching his fists. “Why?”
“Because that’s how you bind a demon,” said Aron.
“Can you really do that?” said Nicoll.
“I’m afraid so,” said Aron. “You summon a demon, offer it a sacrifice and if it accepts it, then it is bound to serve you.”
“Why her?” said Colam.
“Who knows?” said Aron. “I’ve heard it said the stronger demons can be very specific in what they will accept. Perhaps there’s something about her that fits the requirement.”
“How can we fight a demon?” asked Brin.
“We can’t without a couple of strong wizards,” said Aron.
“With two hundred men and a bound demon there’s nothing to stop them between here and the Holy City,” said Tyrone. “They’ll overrun Laranda in no time.”
“What are we to do then?” said Colam, his voice breaking. “We can’t just leave her.”
“I can take down that priest anytime you want,” said Brin.
“How many arrows do you have with you?” asked Tyrone.
“Twenty five,” replied the archer.
“Then that would leave us with at least one hundred and seventy five enemies between us and Ghislaine. I do not like those odds,” said Tyrone grimly. “But we cannot return without her. I could not face Theodis.”
There was silence for a while as they all considered the situation. Then Aron spoke. “We have rope do we not? Brin, you have spare bowstrings.” Brin nodded.
“What’s your idea Aron?” asked Tyrone.
“The timing is all important, but I think we can cause enough distraction to give us a chance to rescue Ghislaine. I’m guessing that they will wait for moonrise before beginning whatever their ritual is. It’s a full moon tonight.”
“Then we have while to wait,” said Tyrone. “What are we to do?”
“My poor Ghislaine,” whispered Colam. “I cannot live if we don’t rescue her.” Nicoll and Tyrone shared a knowing glance at these words.
They filled all the waterskins they had brought, lugged them up to the top of the hill and made ready as the dusk deepened into night then sat down to wait for the moon.
Far into the night, the cultists fired the stack of wood which roared up to a fine blaze sending leaping shadows through the little valley. The rescuers then got their first sight of Ghislaine as she was dragged cursing and screaming from the cave and tied to the stake a few paces from the fire. She was attired in a long flowing white gown secured with a silver belt and her hair fell loose about her shoulders. Her screams were drowned by the voices of the cultists chanting in unison as the full moon rose through a gap in the hills then Arathaxis stepped forward from the cave to begin his ritual. Tyrone, Colam and Nicoll each silently embraced Aron and Brin before they slipped away down into the valley to get into position.
Aron watched from the hill as Arathaxis stepped forward to the edge of the chalk circle and raised his hands. His followers stopped their chant and even Ghislaine fell silent. He threw a handful of powder into the fire which burst into blinding white flame for a moment and then he began to declaim in a harsh tongue that Aron did not recognise. The breeze dropped and the air in the valley grew very still as if everything was holding its breath. The knot of tension in Aron’s stomach tightened even further.
At first Aron thought it was a trick of the firelight, a twist of smoke caught in an eddy perhaps, but as he watched something began to take shape within the circle. Ghislaine saw it too and screamed again, but her shrill cries made no difference to the priest who carried on the spell without faltering.
“Iduna, help me,” whispered Aron, even though no-one would have heard him at this distance. “Guide our hands tonight.”
In the circle the twist of smoke thickened and began to glow orange-red like the heart of the fire. The glow expanded until it filled the cylinder defined by the drawn circle, then it darkened abruptly as if something had stepped into the light. The priest opened his arms wide in welcome, and his congregation let out an awed sigh of triumph as a huge figure materialised. Three times the height of the priest, it stood within the confines of the circle, its skin glowing as if it burned from within with the fires of its home. From within the great horned skull red eyes fixed upon Arathaxis as its lips drew back in a snarl of greeting and a forked tongue flicked out to taste the air. Its impressively muscled body writhed as it sought to burst the spells that bound it to Arathaxis’ will.
“Now, Brin,” called Aron.
Aron cut the restraining ropes and with a creak and rustle of leaves, the tied-back saplings launched the waterskins into the night sky. Brin’s longbow sang softly as he sent his first arrow on its way.
From their position in the bushes beyond the firelight, Tyrone, Colam and Nicoll had a good view of the events. Firstly Brin’s arrow took the priest in the centre of his broad chest; moments later the waterskins landed on the area between the fire and the circle. The skins burst on impact spilling water across the stone, some splashed into the fire, hissing away instantly into steam. More flowed into the circle, washing away the chalk line and wetting the clawed feet of the demon. A gasp of dismay rose from the cultists.
The moment the circle was broken the demon was free. With a howl of triumph it surged forward, seizing the stricken Arathaxis as he stood transfixed by Brin’s arrow. One great arm lifted him from his feet and delivered him to the beast’s many-fanged mouth. Tyrone, Colam and Nicoll watched in horror as the demon flourished the headless body at the crowd then bounded forward howling and slavering. The cultists broke and ran in panic, scattering into the night. The demon gave chase, splattering Tyrone, Colam and Nicoll with the Arathaxis’ blood as it passed by their hiding place.
Ghislaine had fainted in terror. Tyrone’s battle-axe made short work of the ropes that bound her to the stake. Colam lifted her free of her bonds and carried her to the mouth of the cave where he cradled her limp body in his arms sobbing her name over and over.
Up on the hill, Aron and Brin watched the chaos unfold as the cultists fled from the demon. Most headed down the valley but a handful started to climb the hill. Brin picked them off and Aron did not even need to draw his sword. The demon stormed off down the valley in pursuit of the cultists and, as the noise faded into the distance, Aron relaxed.
“I think it’s safe to rejoin the others now,” Aron said. Brin grunted his assent and they began to pick their way down the hill. The cultists’ fire had burnt down and, in the depths of the valley hidden from the moon, the night was now very dark. The sharp thorns exacted a high price from Aron and Brin for their passage through the dense undergrowth.
Tyrone met them at the stream.
“How is Ghislaine?” asked Aron.
“Tearful and very shaken,” said Tyrone. “She’ll survive, and time will blur the horror of it. Colam is sitting with her.”
“Is she fit to be moved?” asked Aron.
“She is. I think we should get away from here in case the cultists come back,” said Tyrone looking around. “Or the demon.” As he spoke the silence of the night was broken by a huge roar and the ground shook as if pounded by a gigantic hammer.
“Too late,” shouted Tyrone. “Into the cave.”
They scrambled up to the cave as a dark-robed man burst through the undergrowth pursued by the demon. Halfway up the slope the beast caught the cultist, casually scooping him up with one paw before ripping his head off with the other.
“What’s happening?” squeaked Ghislaine, looking up from Colam’s embrace.
“Get as far into the cave as you can go,” ordered Tyrone. “The demon’s back.”
Colam picked up Ghislaine and carried her into the dark interior followed swiftly by Nicoll, Aron and Brin. There was another bellow, much louder than the first, and Tyrone scrambled into the cave.
“It’s right outside,” he gasped. Then, with a dreadful snarl, the demon filled the entrance of the cave. It stretched out a huge arm and reached for Tyrone with a clawed paw that carved grooves in the rock floor of the cave as Tyrone leapt back. The demon screeched in frustration as the narrow entrance prevented it reaching its prey who cowered as far back as possible, gagging as the demon’s foul breath washed over them. Brin’s bow sang as he loosed arrow after arrow at the beast, each one finding its target, but seeming only to provoke it more. The demon threw itself at the rocks around the entrance, dust and pebbles fell from the roof but the rocks held.
“What do we do now?” gasped Nicoll.
“Pray, if you have a god,” said Aron. “And wait for dawn. Some demons can’t stand sunlight.”
“Is there any chance it’ll just of this and go away?” said Nicoll.
“Not really,” replied Aron. “Without that priest’s control, it’s simply a random destroyer. It doesn’t possess the intelligence to get bored. It’ll attack anything that catches its attention.”
“So that’s why it didn’t attack Ghislaine, she wasn’t moving,” said Tyrone. “How do you come to know so much of demons?”
“Mastery of weapons isn’t the only thing taught at the Academy,” replied Aron.
They huddled together for warmth in the darkness with the beast’s claws relentlessly seeking them. After a while no-one seemed to have anything to say, so they sat in silence; each busy with their own thoughts or prayers. Some may have slept, Aron did not.
Grey morning light showed around the massive form of the demon as it continued sweeping its claws across the rocky floor an arm’s length short of the prisoners. Aron watched the sky behind the demon lighten in hope, but the demon stayed right where it was completely focused on its prey; dawn brought no change. The only thing that had changed was that they now had enough light to see the walls of their prison.
“Like a cat before a mouse hole,” said Aron. “It has fed too well here to return to its own world yet.”
“And we’re as helpless as mice,” replied Tyrone. “There’s no way we can fight this thing is there? Yet we can’t let it run loose to ravage to countryside.” He turned to the others. One by one they shrugged and shook their heads.
At the far end of the deep cave, where the roof descended to less than waist high, the wan light revealed a cleft with a rough blanket stretched over a rough wooden frame.
“What’s behind that screen?” asked Nicoll.
“I don’t know, but there’s a draught that comes through there sometimes,” said Ghislaine. “That’s why they put the screen up; to keep them warm.”
“That sounds promising,” said Tyrone. “Tear it down and let’s see if there’s a way out through there.”
Colam and Nicoll pulled down the screen revealing a narrow passage. Nicoll threw the screen at the demon which seized it eagerly. It bit into the wood and old cloth and then screamed in frustration. Colam crawled forward into the narrow space. “I can feel a breeze on my face,” he called back over his shoulder. For a short while the others could discern the sounds of Colam’s progress over the noise of the demon but, after that, they sat in a huddle watching the demon, silently praying Colam hadn’t got stuck in some narrow place.
A nailbiting eternity later a rattle of stones announced Colam’s return. He scrambled into view, face scratched and hair full of dust.
“There’s a way out,” he called, as he crawled the last few feet to them. “It comes out on the top of the hill. It’s narrow, but passable.”
“Right, let’s get out of here. You lead Colam. Nicoll, you look after Ghislaine,” ordered Tyrone.
“But,” said Colam.
Tyrone cut him off in mid complaint. “Colam. Go. You know the way.”
“What about that?” Aron pointed at the demon which still clawed the cave floor in vain attempts to reach them. “What’s to stop it coming after us once we’re outside?”
“We’ll be far enough away that it won’t see us,” said Colam. “It comes out right on top of the hill.”
“That’s not certain,” said Tyrone. “And it leaves the demon loose in the countryside.”
“The slope above the cave has got plenty of loose rocks,” said Colam. “It’ll be easy to start a landslide. We can wall the thing up in here.”
“That should do,” said Tyrone. “But we have to keep it by the cave entrance while we get out.”
“Then someone has to stay here to keep its attention until we can bring the rocks down,” said Aron.
“But they may get trapped,” said Nicoll.
“I know,” said Aron.
One by one, the others slipped past Aron down the passageway. Each one stopped for a moment as they came by him. Tyrone grasped his hand firmly. “See you up top, lad,” he said gruffly. Colam and Nicoll took his hand similarly and wished him the Gods’ protection, Brin embraced him and said something in the hillmen’s tongue that Aron took to be a blessing. Ghislaine kissed him and then snuffled tears down his neck before Nicoll took her hand and led her after Colam
The demon still scrabbled its claws mindlessly on the cave floor and walls trying to grasp the man who sat just beyond its reach. Aron needed to keep in its sight so could not retreat to the back of the cave. He had faced danger and death many times before, but always the outcome had turned upon his own resources. Whether facing a swordsman in single combat, or climbing a sheer rockface, his fate was in his hands; sitting shivering in a cold gloomy cave waiting for the roof to fall in tested his nerves in an utterly different way. Cold fingers of fear gripped his stomach and refused to be dislodged as he thought about how much damage the rockslide would do. Would bring down the roof of the cave? Would he be able to get out, or would he share his last hours with an entombed demon?
Rather than dwell on his situation, Aron focused on keeping the demon within the cave mouth where the rockslide would trap it. To hold its interest he cut at its paws with his sword from time to time. This caused no more damage than Brin’s arrows, but kept the demon’s attention.
Aron felt the rockslide before he heard it. The rock trembled around him and the demon howled in response; the rumble drowned the howl and ended in a crashing roar. Then there was silence broken by a couple of small stone slides. Dust filled the cave but the roof held. Aron whispered a prayer of thanks to Iduna as he fumbled with his flint and steel to light the makeshift torch he’d prepared. As the torch lit, the demon burst out in an ear-splitting fury and attacked the rocks that imprisoned it against the cave mouth. Aron crawled away down the passageway, which appeared undamaged, and breathed a sigh of relief as he began to climb up into the hill leaving the trapped beast to its fate.
“So what’ll happen to it?” asked Ghislaine. She’d been the first to hug Aron when he emerged from the cavern, and now walked beside him as they found their way back to where they had left the ponies, Colam just a step behind her.
“When it weakens it’ll dematerialise and return to wherever it came from,” said Aron.
“Are you sure it can’t get out?” Ghislaine said, turning to look back .
“Who knows what a demon can do, but I think we’ve walled it up pretty good,” said Colam. “Once we reach the ponies we’ll get you right away.”
“What do you suppose happened to all those men?” asked Ghislaine.
“Scattered to the four winds and still running,” laughed Aron. “Those that the demon didn’t catch. I hope they didn’t find our ponies, or we’ve a long walk ahead of us.”
“I hope the demon ate every last one of them,” said Ghislaine fiercely.
They saw no sign of the cultists as they made their way back over the hill to the ponies. Aron presumed that they had all taken the fastest route away from the demon up the valley, which made it easy for the beast to hunt them down. The ponies were in the thicket where they had left them and, after they had been fed and watered, the party loaded up and rode out.
The sun was sinking into the west as they left the hills behind. Nicoll lead the small procession as they rode in single file. No-one talked much as they rode along, each tired and busy with their thoughts of the days’ happenings. There was one thing that still stirred Aron’s curiosity; he moved his pony forward past Colam to ride beside Ghislaine.
“Have you any idea why they picked you out?” Aron asked Ghislaine. “Did they say anything that would give us some clue?”
“It was my hair,” said Ghislaine. “They said they took me because I was the first girl they saw with red hair.”
Colam reached over and lifted up her heavy tresses, pointing to the blonde roots and laughed. “I’ll wager that’ll be the last time you dye it red.”
“I thought you liked redheads,” said Ghislaine with a toss of her locks. “I know Nicoll does.”